


Remember the Sexy Brows?

by whenshewrites



Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [76]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Scott, BAMF Stiles, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is Not a Failwolf, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Good Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Idiots in Love, M/M, Monster of the Week, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Temporary Amnesia, Tumblr Prompt, stiles loses memories, temporarily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24502918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: Stiles forgot a few things-- like Derek Hale, for example.But only long enough to make a fool of himself.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [76]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956889
Comments: 20
Kudos: 727





	Remember the Sexy Brows?

Stiles blamed the witch.

It seemed like whenever something went wrong in Beacon Hills, it was the fault of a witch. Sometimes warlocks too, but they seemed to avoid Beacon Hills a lot more often. But the witches, man. They were always there. 

Looming.

The point is, this was the fault of a witch. And Stiles was so done.

He was feeling pretty handy with a baseball bat about three seconds before he was blasted into a tree. At second one, Stiles was racing across the field with a battle cry in his throat. A second two, he was being flung back by a blast of light to his chest. And at second three, all he knew was pain.

Stiles blamed the witch. It was all her fault.

Then all he knew was black.

* * *

Stiles wasn’t a stranger to waking up in odd places.

When he was a kid, he used to fall asleep on the couch and wake up in his bed. When he was in middle school, he fell asleep at Scott’s and woke up in a tree. In his freshman year of high school, he was dared to stakeout the girl’s locker room and woke up in the principal’s office. The point is, Stiles was used to experiencing odd things.

He wasn’t expecting to wake up and find a strange man looming over him, though.

“Woah, holy fuck, dude! Stranger danger! Invasion of my personal bubble! Someone call the cops!”

The guy looked extremely irritated as he backed off. Someone else came into view; and Stiles nearly melted in relief as he recognized his best friend.

“Oh my god,” he said. “Scott. _Scott_. Dude, I swear to god, if I fell asleep in your tree again, it was a complete accident and I didn’t mean to—” Except that wasn’t Scott. Yeah, it had his face and his adorable puppy eyes, but nothing else. Nothing.

Because Scott was a lot smaller. His hair was a lot fluffier. And what the hell was with the newly acquired muscles?

“Uh, dude?” Scott said, taking a cautious step forward. Stiles squawked and shoved himself up, realizing he was on a metal table and surrounded by other people he didn’t recognize. His heart pounded at a hundred miles an hour and he dug his nails into his palm, trying to force back a panic attack.

“Guys,” Scott said. “He’s panicking. Everyone back up.”

“D-do we know these people? Do I know these people?”

“He’s finally lost it,” a blonde-haired girl said. Stiles blinked at her and then squinted. Because that was— no, it couldn’t be. There was no way.

_“Erica Reyes?”_

“Yeah,” a curly-haired boy next to her said. Upon recognition, Stiles didn’t know what the hell Isaac Lahey was doing here. Or how the guy even knew who Stiles was. “He’s lost it.”

“He hasn’t lost anything,” a gruffer voice said. It was scary ‘no sense of personal space’ dude, Stiles realized, cringing back slightly. “Deaton said his memory has been reset a few years. He should be fine in twenty-four hours.”

Stiles blinked at him. Scary ‘no sense of personal space’ dude was also kind of hot, if Stiles was being honest. And his eyebrows were a bit of a turn on. Stiles gaped at his own mind and shook his head, before glaring at him. Derek didn’t look impressed, though.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“He doesn’t recognize Derek,” Erica said, looking positively gleeful. “That’s gold.”

“Shut up,” Derek said, looking grumpy at that. “Stiles, what’s the last thing you remember? What year is it?”

“What year— _what year is it?_ Dude, is this some kind of joke? Have I been pranked? Scott, I swear to god, this lost all it’s humor the second I woke up and realized sexy-brows wasn’t a gay-awakening dream.”

Derek straightened at that and Erica let out a bark of laughter. Scott looked a little horrified and Stiles swallowed hard, trying to ignore how hot his face was getting. He didn’t know this asshole, so why did it matter what he said?

“Stiles,” Scott said. “Do you remember sophomore year?”

“Fuck yeah, dude, we’re sophomores!”

“Oh my god,” Isaac said. “Stilinski, how old do you think you are?”

Stiles stared at him. Then he looked down at his hands and over the rest of his body. Everything seemed accurately proportioned. Except, he was a lot musclier than he remembered. Stiles rubbed a hand over his forehead and then yelped when he realized he had hair.

“Scott! My buzzcut!”

“Fuck,” Erica breathed, looking at him like Stiles was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. Then, she doubled over with laughter. “He thinks he’s sixteen!”

Thinks? _Thinks?_

Stiles looked from older-Scott, to grumpy sexy-brows, and then down at his hands again, and realized something was very wrong. Something was very wrong and Stiles had no idea what.

“Shit.”

* * *

“I’ll believe a lot of things,” Stiles said, pacing his room back and forth. “But werewolves are not one of them, Scott. I’m not an idiot. I don’t believe in fairy tales.”

Scott sat on the edge of his bed and looked anywhere but Stiles’s face. Narrowing his eyes, Stiles dropped into the chair at his desk and studied him.

“You’re hiding something from me. What are you hiding from me?”

“Werewolves were actually your idea in the first place,” Scott said carefully. “When I got bit.”

“I… what?”

“It was actually right,” Scott said. “But it took a few learning curves.”

“Learning curves? Dude! Have you killed anyone?”

“No, of course not!”

“Huh,” Stiles said, lacing his fingers together and resting them underneath his chin. “Show me, then. The whole werewolf thing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Scotty, I have recently been told I am eighteen years old. Which means I’m a man. A man who can totally take whatever you about to— oh my god!”

Stiles leaped up, stumbling away from his chair as Scott’s face morphed to something grotesque and his eyes turned a vibrant shade of red. Fangs poked at his upper lip, his fingernails were claws, and there was no way that was right. Or real. This was a fever dream, it had to be.

“Stiles?” Scott said, voice warbled by his fangs. “Are you okay, man?”

“Y-yeah, man, I’m just… adjusting. I’m adjusting.”

Scott’s face turned back to normal, but Stiles couldn’t get that image from his head. He stayed in the corner and watched his best friend for a moment. If this was a fever dream, Scott couldn’t hurt him, right? Everything was going to be fine.

“So,” Stiles said, moving carefully back into his chair. “Does this mean I have yet to get with Lydia?”

“Lydia?”

“Yeah, dude, Lydia Martin. Strawberry-blonde hair, gorgeous green eyes, literally everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman.”

“Oh,” Scott said, wincing. “No.”

Stiles deflated. “Not even in five to ten years? What about my ten-year plan?”

“You’ve kinda ditched that,” Scott said. “For Derek.”

“For Derek?”

There was a sudden tap on his window and Stiles yelped, flailing out of his chair as he spotted the man crouched on the roof outside. Scott gave him a worried look and got up, crossing the room to pull it open. Stiles managed to push himself up right as Derek climbed in, giving him a judgemental looking eyebrow.

“What about me?”

“Oh my god, nothing,” Stiles said, retreating backward. “Absolutely nothing. Nothing about you or your sexy looking— your eyebrows.”

Derek stared at him. Scott laughed nervously and stepped between them. “Right, uh. Thanks for taking over, man.”

Derek just grunted. Stiles blinked at the two of them. 

“Wait, taking over? Taking over for what?”

“We’re supposed to watch over you,” Scott said. “In case something goes wrong. I would, but I’ve got a shift at Deaton’s. So Derek’s gonna do it.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, voice small. “Derek’s gonna do it. Of course, Derek’s gonna do it.”

Derek gave him an ‘is that a problem’ look and Stiles gulped, offering his best smile. The man only rolled his eyes and Scott patted him on the shoulder as he left. 

Stiles gazed after the boy, half-tempted to follow and maybe beg for mercy, but he was a grown man. He was eighteen years old, dammit, he was not afraid of some stubbled man and his freakishly good looks.

“So,” Stiles said, turning back around. “Babysitting duty, eh?”

“You’re not a baby,” Derek said. He picked up a magazine from Stiles’s desk— one on planting, which Stiles didn’t know why he had— and proceeded to lounge back in Stiles’s bed. He didn’t seem bothered at all. In fact, he almost seemed at home.

“So,” Stiles said, shuffling his feet. “We’re friends? Or something?”

“Or something.”

“But you like me,” Stiles pressed. Derek gave him a strange look and Stiles turned red. “I mean clearly, you have to kinda like me. If you’re here on babysitting duty.”

“Sure, Stiles.”

“That’s not very reassuring, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

Stiles sighed and sunk down into his desk chair. He watched Derek for a moment longer but the man seemed content to ignore him, so Stiles spun his chair around and fixed his attention on his laptop. He assumed there were a lot of things he’d missed. Like his favorite comics. Or movies! There had to be a few new movies.

“Dude!” Stiles screeched after a second of research. Derek startled so hard he nearly rolled off the side of the bed and Stiles spun around, tapping his computer screen in excitement. “There are three new Avengers movies out. Three!”

“Stiles, I swear to god—”

“We have to watch them!”

“You’re going to start remembering things in less than twenty-four hours. What’s the point?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “You’re so sour. This is my chance, dude, to re-experience all the things that bring me joy. Do you know what I would give to be able to read something like Harry Potter again without knowing what happens?”

“Then watch your movies,” Derek said, looking unimpressed. “You have about eight hours.”

“Do you… want to watch them with me?”

Derek looked at him in confusion. Stiles rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged.

“I mean, you don’t have too.”

Derek studied him for another few seconds. Then, silently, he nodded and Stiles grinned. He grabbed his laptop and a few snacks from his lowest drawer— where his future self continued hiding them, thank goodness— and then moved over to the bed, flopping down.

Derek was suddenly very close and very warm, and Stiles nearly shied back. But instead, he flipped his laptop open and offered over a roll of oreos.

Derek accepted them cautiously, like they were a bomb about to go off. Stiles rolled his eyes and clicked to the first movie.

And honestly, this could be worse. Maybe Derek wasn’t so bad.

Stiles’s future self must have readjusted his Lydia marriage plan for some reason.

* * *

Stiles woke up when it was pitch black outside and his computer was disregarded on the mattress a few inches away. Blinking a few times, Stiles smacked his lips together, and then his eyes flew open. Memories came flooding back to him and he went shock-still.

Pressed up against his back, with one arm wrapped around his chest and face buried into his neck, Derek groaned. His breaths were warm against Stiles’s neck and after a moment, he shifted.

And then went still too.

“So,” Stiles said. “I don’t think I’m sixteen anymore.”

Derek pulled his face back, but didn’t remove his arm. In fact, his hold seemed to tighten. Stiles felt that make his stomach flip and closed his eyes, biting down hard on his tongue. Derek huffed.

“It’s pitch black and I can still see you blushing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Stiles,” Derek said. He was quiet for a moment and then there was amusement in his voice. “You think my eyebrows are sexy.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, turning his face into the pillow. Leave it to his not-so-sixteen-year-old self to out him. Stiles hated everything sometimes. “To be fair, you have a very nice face, which I have told you on multiple occasions.”

“Usually, in the form of an insult.”

“Are you toying with me, Derek? Because that’s not very nice and I’ll remind you that we are in my bed and—” Stiles suddenly cut off, his face turning red again. “Never mind.”

Derek removed his arm and, after a second, Stiles flipped over to face him. Derek was smiling slightly and that expression so wasn’t fair. Stiles really shouldn’t be freaking out like this. They’d shared a bed before.

Granted, Stiles had either been drunk, running on three days of no sleep, or Derek was crashing after a long night of research. But the point was, it’d been done before. Derek kept his favorite magazines here, goddammit.

So maybe that was more telling than Stiles cared to admit.

“So,” he said. “We gonna talk about this?”

“The part where you think my eyebrows are sexy or the part where I’m your new Lydia ten-year plan?”

“Oh, you asshole!” Stiles said, kicking him in the leg. “Werewolves are not allowed to listen into personal conversations! I don’t care how good your stupid hearing is!”

“Sorry,” Derek said, but he didn’t look very sorry. In fact, he looked a little nervous. “So...”

“So.”

“Was I your gay-awakening dream?”

“I hate you.”

“Hm,” Derek said, leaning closer. Stiles’s breaths caught in his throat and Derek smirked cautiously. “Because if I wasn’t, am I allowed to be now?”

“Are you really— is this really— oh my god!”

Derek chuckled and Stiles pressed forward, catching his lips. This was nowhere near how he’d seen things going, but he’d had Derek on a ten-year plan. And, humming at the back of his throat as Derek growled, Stiles decided he was very okay with this. With not having to wait ten years, that was.

He’d blamed the witch for all of this at first.

He was very thankful now.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the challenge of two prompts at once; “You have no idea who I am, do you?” & “It’s pitch black and I can still see you blushing” and I loved writing this so much! As always, the comments and support you guys leave makes my day. Stay safe!
> 
> Come hang with me on Tumblr! 
> 
> [tumblr dumpser](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)


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